


Redbone

by ventiskull



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gay Drama, Introspection, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Sadsturbation, Will add tags as I go, hooking up with people who look like the person you're in love with, jerking off to people who look like the person you're in love with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-22 06:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventiskull/pseuds/ventiskull
Summary: Gabriel and Jack find out they've both been hooking up with people who look like the other. Eventually, something gives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: Gabriel's night-time activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title isn’t in any way significant to the story other than that it was the song I was listening to when the idea to write this struck me. But hey, I guess it’s a pretty good tune to listen to while thinking of Gabe and Jack boning (redboning, if you will, haha shut the fuck up) too so there’s that. My thanks to the good people of R76 twitter for helping to inspire and encouraging this whole mess, I hope I deliver the goods satisfactorily.

Gabe would be lying if he said it got easier and less embarrassing over time.

He sometimes missed the feeling of camaraderie that shared spaces as in the army barracks offered, but times like this he was thankful that one of the perks his rank afforded him was a bedroom all to himself.

There he was—lying in the darkness, boxers pulled down with the waistband caught just underneath his balls, one hand slowly, lazily thumbing over the head of his cock while the other scrolled through his phone looking for the perfect video to get himself off to.

Commander Gabriel Reyes, using what could well be the fastest internet connection in the world to look for porn on the internet.

And not just any porn—porn depicting _Strike Commander Jack Morrison, his best friend_ and technically, _his boss—_ to be specific.

Gabe would be lying if he said it got easier and less embarrassing over time.

If anything, it only got worse and these days it took a certain kind of mental and emotional strength to quietly, internally stifle down his feelings of shame and keep looking Jack in the eye not long after—or _before_ —he’d lose himself in another one of his fantasy sessions.

It made Gabe feel some unnamed emotion to find out how wildly popular and extensive the _“Strike Commander Jack Morrison”_ pornography category was. The first time he’d gotten the idea he typed it on the search bar of his private browser on a whim and lo and behold—there was pretty much one or two of _everything,_ from the low-budget pizza delivery sort and boss/secretary office quickie trope down to audibles and ASMR clips, god bless the internet. It didn’t even have to be in the “strike commander” category, there definitely was no shortage of men in the industry who more or less looked like Jack.

But of course, none of them were quite like Jack. No one knew Jack quite like he did.

They were always just bits and pieces of Jack—one actor who had nearly the same voice as Jack but a poorly imitated accent (Gabe briefly wonders how many people in the world knew that Jack even _had_ multiple accents, just that minuscule, shifting lilt from his Midwestern accent to his public speaking voice), a different actor who had nearly the same face as Jack but with a significantly less squared jaw and chin, and another who nearly had the same build as Jack but not quite the same shoulder to waist ratio, so on and so forth. He was ashamed to admit even to himself that he’d done this enough to know exactly which actor, which very specific piece of media to go to depending on what he was in the mood for (hell, maybe even sometimes he just listened to the ASMR audios, lulling himself to sleep with the voice of Jack-but-not-quite-Jack saying things—sometimes nice, sometimes sleazy—in his ear).

Gabriel Reyes was undeniably very, very much in love with Jack Morrison.

There was only one problem—Jack Morrison’s heart already belonged to someone else.

Jack always talked about Vincent What’s-His-Name like rainbows beamed out of his ass.

He used to not mind.

Well, not really. He didn’t _always_ like Old Macdonald Had A Six-Pack from Indiana, with his absurd baby blue eyes, gold-spun hair and charming all-American poster boy idealism—especially _not_ the way the stupid hick talked about his equally stupid hick boyfriend all the goddamn time and how after the war they were going to retire to a farm with 10 dogs and make sweet, sweet love all day and night—or whatever the fuck it was country bumpkins like Morrison daydreamed about.

But Jack being—well, Jack Morrison—managed to worm his way into Gabe’s inner orbit despite Gabe's “gruff asshole” persona using his sense of humor, his stubbornness, his sense of conviction and duty—maybe eventually his good looks too but Gabe would never admit to that—among other shining, shimmering splendid qualities that Quaker Oats  _exemplified_ the whole time Gabe knew him. It was almost _annoying_ if Gabe didn’t know that Jack was actually genuine about his convictions, _annoying_ if he didn’t know, didn’t get to see that there was more to Jack than the prim and proper boyscout façade: a side of Jack with the dry, blunt-sarcastic and savage humor, a side of him that enjoyed watching bad romantic comedies for the very specific reason of them being _bad_ , Jack who behaved like an oversized, overpowered 5-year-old who loved causing trouble if he knew he could get away with it, Jack who snuck in a doobie to share with Gabe—Jack who worked in action so seamlessly with Gabe that they hardly ever have to speak to know how the other was going to move or what the other was thinking, Jack who had his back, sometimes _literally_ throughout the war, Jack who held Gabe and himself through the agony of losing their friends and loved ones to the Crisis, Jack who cradled Gabe’s cold and shivering body through the worst of the SEP experiments.

Jack Morrison, his best friend.

No one knew Jack quite like he did.

Gabe never was able to tell when _“please shut the fuck up about your dumb boyfriend for once”_  turned to _“it’s nice you have someone waiting for you and dreams to build with, I’m happy for you bud”_ and finally to _“I wish_ **I** _could retire to a farm with 10 dogs and make sweet, sweet love to_ **you** _after the war”_.

Fucking disgusting.

Gabe guessed he’s felt that way for a while, just too emotionally constipated to figure it out much earlier.

It happened slowly, then all at once.

Gabe supposes he was never the same—the way he saw Jack was _never_ the same—the moment he figured it out.

It _wasn’t a crush._ He was too goddamn old for crushes—he knew what the fuck he was about. No use denying it, but no use admitting it, either.

He was hopelessly in love with Jack Morrison and he committed to himself to a personal death pact to take his feelings with him to the grave or lack thereof.

It was only killing him even faster to be in such close proximity—beyond the physical definition of the word—with Jack all the time and not be able to dote on him and touch him the way his heart desired. And he most certainly was _not_ going to act like an inconsiderate asshole by confessing his feelings to a man who was already in a relationship for his own peace of mind. Not even that, actually—Gabe’s paranoid mind jumped to all sorts of scenarios, such as: even if Jack and Vincent broke up, would Jack even return his feelings? He would much rather eat his own heart than lose what he had with Jack and muddle their companionship with awkward feelings—Jack _pitying him,_ maybe Jack cutting him off to “spare his feelings” or “give him time and space to move on” or “I don’t want you to feel like I’m leading you on”—whatever.

What he had with Jack mattered to him far too much to want to risk compromising it with awkwardness or romance (because friendships last longer than romance, right?) and he didn’t think he’d even know how to begin to salvage the remnants of his dignity, his pride and his broken heart if it so happened that Jack didn’t love him back in that way. Doesn’t mean they’re best friends they could become something more. Gabe has seen it go so incredibly awry that very same way from so many other different people to want to put himself in that same situation—and so at the risk of mistaking the possibility of romance for just them being very good friends Gabe, for a while now, has decided to play it safe by bottling up his feelings and keeping just this one other outlet for his unrequited feelings. It absolutely did make him feel guilty, made him feel like a bit of a creep, _but what’s a guy to do?_ He thinks to himself.

Tonight, Gabe isn’t in the mood for anything in particular. Almost clinically, mechanically, he scrolls on his phone, touching himself lazily for a few minutes to see if any titles in particular got him going, but to no avail. Gabe sighs, tapping and swiping to close all his tabs (he was _that_ paranoid), then clicks the lock button on his phone and lays it on the bedside table.

Just him and his imagination tonight then, he supposes.

Gabe closes his eyes, squeezing his cock a little more firmly, his other hand traveling up under his shirt, the rough, callused skin of his palms and finger tips caressing up his mound, his abdomen, then up to his pecs where he circles a nipple, then pinches it, then moves on to the other. He repeats the motions of running his hand up and down his shaft and caressing himself as he focuses his thoughts on conjuring memories of Jack and cobbling them up together to build his fantasy—nothing too extraordinary, nothing particularly kinky. Sometimes just good ol’ missionary was enough. Gabe was never too particular about the kinks. He concentrated more on crafting the little bits of intimacy that he craved—the warmth radiating off of Jack’s skin as he braced his arms beside his head and pounded him into the mattress, the snug comfort of Jack’s legs wrapped around his torso to pull him in closer, the feeling of Jack’s nails massaging his scalp and his fingers tightening on his hair, the way Jack’s mouth felt around Gabe’s when he moaned his name while they kissed, Jack’s deep gravelly voice telling him he lo—

It doesn’t take too much or too long for Gabe to come. He stifles the part-moan, part-growl that comes out of his mouth by biting into the meat of his hand. His breaths are quick and ragged as he comes down shivering, his hips still shakily pumping into his hand as he draws out the final dregs of his orgasm. A few seconds later he wipes his hand and other soiled parts of himself down with tissue, crumples it up and chucks it into the bin on the other side of the bed. He pulls his boxers back up and wraps the comforter around him.

It’s not as satisfying (or was it ever?) as he used to remember, as if he’d forgotten the cloud nine high and relaxation that a good wank used to bring him.

He doesn’t know why he bothers to do it at all anymore these days. _But what’s a guy to do?_ He thinks to himself.

If anything, the activity has at least gotten him tired enough to feel his eyelids droop. That much is enough. Maybe he’s tired for different reasons, but he doesn’t think about that.

Gabe closes his eyes, unbidden thoughts of a universe where Jack Morrison loved him back permeating his tired, lonely mind as he drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are great, but comments feed and nourish my family. Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ventiskull)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life happens to Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all—wow! Thank you so much everyone, the attention this fic has garnered so far really exceeded what I was hoping for aaaahhhh. Special thanks to everyone who took the time to tell me how much they enjoyed the story, so here’s chapter two—serving you all more angsty introspection and more of Jack and Gabe dancing around their feelings. :-) Enjoy!

The first time it happens, the resemblance doesn’t occur to Jack just quite yet.

It was one of the rarer moments when the strike commander could actually afford an extra day off. A day and a _half,_ if you count the 12 hours earlier than the appointed time that he’d arrived for his and Gabe’s spontaneous meet-up in Barcelona, just a little holiday (“it’s a _date”_ was the running gag) in the middle of January to compensate for Gabe totally missing out on Christmas and new year celebrations due to work—winter was the perfect time, too, bundling up in excess amounts of clothing serving the dual purpose of protecting them from the cold and helping to obscure their high-profile identities. Jack already took 3 days off to spend some time with Vincent—he’d done his best to make sure he had time to spend with his best friend as well, especially since he knew Gabe had nothing, no _one_ —not even his family—to go home to and was likely determined to forego rest, relaxation and festivities in favor of burying himself in his work and taking on extra responsibilities to give his subordinates just a little more room to enjoy the holidays (which Gabriel does not say out loud, but Jack knows). It was only a minor detail that he had to be in Barcelona for work, anyways. He could sneak in some time to spend with Gabe. It’s been a while since he’d seen the man anywhere outside of official meetings.

He and Gabe were close enough for him not to think twice about making unexpected visits to Gabe where he was staying at for his current mission—knows Gabe’s living habits and patterns like the same clockwork it’s been the last couple of years, and so Jack was, to a degree, surprised to see Gabe deviating from his fixed ways.

Jack arrives discreetly at the little suburban hotel—alone with no more than a small gym bag for his things (and miniature weapons cache, of course), dressed down in civvies, most of his head and face obscured by the hood of his jacket, a large knitted beanie and matching knitted scarf. The elevator dings open and Jack steps off onto the third floor, quiet save for some faint house music reverberating from the common area. The hallway is desolate and abandoned—at least it was at first, until a door to his left opens and shuts. Room 308—Jack realizes with a start that it was the very same room he was just headed to—Gabriel’s room. A man leaves, almost in a hurry, scuffling to wrap his coat around himself.

The alarm bells go off in Jack’s mind—who was this man? He knew every last man and women in the Blackwatch and Overwatch roster—it was his _job,_ after all—but he didn’t recognize this man. Had Gabe’s cover been blown? Was Gabe alright? Whose agent was this? What’s he doing here? Jack’s body moves on instinct before he realizes what he’s about to do—he slams the man against the padded wall of the hallway, pressing a forearm over his chest and neck as he encroaches on the stranger’s space.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He growls, the volume unexpectedly loud in his almost adrenaline-driven state. The man violently shakes his head as he devolves into rapid-fire Spanish, panicked, floundering in Jack’s hold which only causes Jack to press in closer and become more forceful. Suddenly the door to 308 opens and Gabe peeks his head out of the hallway.

“Jack what the _fuck_ are you doing?” Gabe says, padding down the hallway barefoot, and what now Jack registers—in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

It takes Jack’s mind—like a cornered animal on high-alert with its hackles up—a few minutes to put together Gabriel’s disheveled, half-naked appearance and, upon closer inspection, the angry red welts peppering the man’s pale neck that he’d been so eager to cover up only moments earlier. The expression on Jack’s face morphs into something that very evidently gives away the gears turning in his brain as he figures out his mistake, and again shifts into something that most certainly conveys utter _embarrassment_ as his face reddens all the way up to the edge of his hairline _._ He releases his hold on the man, allows his shoulders to droop as he buries his face in his hand.

“Oh my _god,_ I am so sorry—”

The man exhales in relief, muttering _“what the fuck”_ in a heavily accented voice before he devolves once more into unintelligible Spanish.

“He’s my boss, don’t worry about it. Jesus. I’m sorry, just—thanks again, but you should go.” Gabe and the man make a few more exchanges in Spanish, leaving Jack to regain his composure and stand awkwardly in the hall, and soon enough the man is back on his way to leaving, the muffled sounds of his footsteps dragging over the carpeted floor the only thing in the way of total silence, then the sound of the elevator dinging as he makes his descent back down to the lobby. It was quiet between Jack and Gabriel for a few more moments before Jack decides to speak up.

“I can—"

“Get in.” Gabe interrupts, pulling Jack by the collar into the room. He closes the door behind him, Jack stands awkwardly and Gabe remains where he is, covering his face with both his hands as he lets out an exasperated sigh. Jack decides to try again.

“Gabe, Christ I’m so—” Gabriel’s shoulders begin to shake, at first slowly and then rapidly until Jack realizes that Gabe is laughing.

“Okay, you’re sorry, I know, just—” He doesn’t finish his sentence in favor of laughing, one hand leaving his face to rub at the tears welling at the corner of one of Gabe’s eyes, and Jack internally breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the Gabe’s bright toothy grin.

“Holy shit, Jack, you really need to be around civilians more often it’s like you’ve _forgotten_ that normal people exist.” Jack feels some of the embarrassment ebb away, his posture relaxes and he joins in with Gabriel’s laughter.

“Fuck you, Reyes. Remind me to never worry about you getting shot in your goddamn hotel room while you sleep ever again.”

“Right, right. Thank you for your concern, _strike commander, sir_ , I do appreciate it.” Gabe says as he rummages around the drawers for clothes, dressing up in front of the other a far too familiar practice for either of them to mind Gabe dropping his towel to pull on his pants.

“Okay, for real though. I’m sorry if I interrupted anything.”

“Morrison, seriously, it’s fine. And you saw he was just about to leave.”

“Right, right.”

“Okay, I appreciate you being worried about my safety though, alright? Now—” Gabe pulls on his hoodie to top off the rest of his outfit.

“—are we gonna go out and enjoy our fucking holiday or what?”

~

Gabriel Reyes was nothing if not a good liar and an even better actor. Jack arriving _12 hours_ earlier than the originally expected time of arrival wasn’t something he’d anticipated. His sexual and _romantic_ escapades weren’t exactly things he discussed out in the open which has likely led people to believing it’s a non-existent aspect of his life altogether—probably something even Jack believed—but in Gabriel’s defense he tried very hard to not discuss it with Jack, _especially_ Jack, which wasn’t a particularly hard thing to do since Gabe knew Jack so well to have developed a knack for redirecting his attention when it came to personal matters. Ask about Vincent _one time_ and off he goes.

A knack which Gabe hopes he’s used to its maximum potential in this very situation. He avoids the topic of the one-night stand to shrug it off like it wasn’t a big deal which, if Jack pressed, he could just as easily shrug off as “ _Jack, come on, I’m a man and I have needs_ ”, or “ _we’re grown-ups, Jack, I don’t have to discuss all of this shit with you_ ” or something similar. He even went the extra mile of laughing it the hell off even when deep down he was in a total state of panic, hoping to God Himself that Jack was too stunned and embarrassed by the whole ordeal to notice the blond hair and the blue eyes.

~

The second time it happens, Jack and Vincent had already been separated for a month.

Jack had done his best to deny it was happening despite already knowing in the back of his mind that it was an almost inevitable outcome—the nature of his work as strike commander, among _other_ things, also made it difficult if not totally impossible for Jack to have done something to prevent the fallout of his relationship. Vincent decided it wasn’t worth doing in the flesh, it certainly would be an asshole thing to do to pull Jack away from his responsibilities just to break up with him. And so they broke up over video chat, late at night (on Jack’s end), alone in his dimly lit office, barely able to look at Vincent’s slightly grainy face on the video while his hands cupped and fidgeted with an untouched and slowly cooling mug of coffee.

Jack’s mind was detached from much of the conversation—if it _could_ be called that, since Vincent did most of the talking and Jack could only sigh and nod and input the occasional “I understand”. If he were to be honest, it felt a lot like most of the business calls he took these days.

Jack thinks about how he was so fixated on what he _had_ with Vincent and the plans they had for the future that it almost slipped his mind that just maybe Vincent had a life outside of Jack. In retrospect, everything Vincent told him were things his paranoid mind had already invented and rehearsed answering to—but now that it was happening, Jack decides it wouldn’t be fair to make Vincent wait. He was his own person with his own hopes and dreams that didn’t involve Jack and his responsibilities to the world. Jack had just been too much of a coward to let him go.

It was a respectful conversation overall, especially for break-up talk. The gist of it was that Vincent understood, it wasn’t Jack’s fault what with the world on his shoulders, but he had his own life to live—the works. Most of it effervesces from Jack’s mind almost as quickly as his brain processes the information, but two things Vincent says do at least stick with Jack: one, is that he was interested in seeing someone else. ( _Good_ , Jack thinks. He was at some level complacent that he and Vincent could at least manage to stay friends after this. Vincent deserved someone close by who would give him all the love, attention and _proximal_ support that he deserved). And second, Vincent’s words— _“Gabriel will take care of you. I know he cares about you. And I know you love him as much—maybe even more—than you loved me.”_

“Thank you’s” and “we’re still friends, you can still talk to me” were exchanged and then it was over. His long-term—the longest, in fact—relationship could not survive his being strike commander had finally ended—as they say, not with a bang, but with a whimper. Jack lets out a bone-deep sigh, buries his face in his hands and rubs his eyes before he switches open his tablet and gets back to work.

~

Gabriel had been held up overseas an unexpectedly long time for a mission—the consequence being Jack hadn’t been able to tell him about the break-up until after a _whole month_ since the call happened. It wasn’t really something to be discussed over the phone or on messages, and Jack didn’t really think his personal life took any precedence over work even if Gabe was his best friend, so he waited for Gabe to arrive back at base before telling him the news, even bothering to wait a few extra days after the mission reports and meetings have been done as well as for Gabe to catch on some much-needed sleep. He doesn’t get to visit until sometime in the evening.

Sometimes, Jack forgot to knock.

It was a habit that stuck with him back when he and Gabe were still roommates in basic and in the SEP, and if the door was locked then he knew Gabe was having some of his so-called “me-time”.

Which he _was_ having at the moment, except someone somewhere forgot to lock the door. Jack walks in on Gabe, shirt already halfway off of his body, kissing and getting handsy with someone who he only vaguely recognizes was one of the doctors from the med bay. Jack moves to step back out onto the hallway, but unfortunately his presence did not go unnoticed, and his blue duster most certainly startled the poor doctor into pulling away from Gabriel, mumbling “sorry, strike commander, sir”, pulling his shirt back on and exiting the room all in a flash before Jack could even think about saying _“sorry for interrupting, I’ll come by later”_.

The door slams shut and Jack turns his head back to Gabe, and Gabe in turn was looking at Jack, a look of disappointment already plastered on his face as he started putting his own shirt on.

“Sorry.” Is all Jack mutters, shuffling his feet and awkwardly running his hand up and down the back of his head. Gabe sighs heavily as he sits on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubs his face into his palms, his shoulders drooping heavily. Gabe was tired—for more reasons than Jack was privy to.

“It’s fine.” Gabe says, straightening himself up and looking at Jack with a tight-lipped smile. “What did you need?” Jack doesn’t see the need to come up with a prelude, and to avert further awkwardness he decides to go straight to the point.

“Vincent and I broke up.” Gabe sighs again, heavier, his shoulders falling once more.

“Fuck, Jack, I’m sorry.” Gabe pats the space next to him, beckoning Jack to sit down. Jack sits, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of him and looking up from the floor to the ceiling to the wall as he recounts the story of the break-up—not a lot to tell, to be honest, and Gabriel quietly listens to him, with the occasional “hmmm” in response to let know Jack he was still following. Jack told him the story for what it was, almost like a report with none of his own feelings or introspection to add. It was expected, he doesn’t think Gabe is surprised either.

It’s quiet between them for a few moments after Jack is finished talking, and then Gabe claps him on the back. He doesn’t need to say anything—that one gesture alone carries so much more meaning.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

“Jack, come on, you guys were together for so long. You’ll be fine—whatever _fine_ entails in this fucking line of work—but like hell I’m not gonna worry.”

“I don’t know, like, I think I could use a hug.” Gabe turns to look at him, his brows furrowed suspiciously. He raises an eyebrow at Jack.

“For real?” Jack laughs.

“Yeah, for real. Come on, I deserve it. Can I get a hug? No, scratch that—Commander Reyes, give me a hug. _That’s an order._ ”

“Oh, I see, lording your rank on me now, are you?”

“Absolutely.” Gabe chuckles, turning his body so he was completely facing Jack. He opens his arms.

“Well?”

It’s a little awkward at first, with their sitting positions on the bed and the fact that despite their being the best of friends, neither man was too fond of full-on physical contact—which wasn’t to say that Jack and Gabriel haven’t had such close physical contact, as they’ve had countless, in fact—just not in this context. It stays awkward a few more seconds until Jack’s arms suddenly tighten around Gabriel and he buries his face a little more forcefully into his shoulder and then Gabriel knows that Jack isn’t kidding anymore. He quickly readjusts himself then, making more room for Jack and pulling him in closer, embracing him tighter, petting his hair and resting his chin on top of Jack’s head. Something snaps inside of Jack when he feels Gabe holding him closer and tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes, his body shaking with the effort to hold them in.

“Shh, I got you boyscout.” And then the dam inside Jack breaks. Jack sobs weakly, almost nothing giving him away aside from the small tremors emanating from his body, the occasional sniffle and his ragged breathing. Gabriel can only hold him and soothe him with a few touches. It lasts maybe 10 minutes, and when Jack pulls away Gabriel feels disoriented, as if he’d just been freed from a spell. Nothing is amiss from Jack’s appearance other than his disheveled hair, the tip of his nose just a little red and his eyes just a little damp. He rests his forehead on Gabe’s shoulder.

“Look, I… Can I stay here?”

“Are you asking or are you ordering me?” Jack manages to crack a laugh at that.

“Nah, I’m asking. I just ruined your hook-up night with my absolute trainwreck of a life so I’m not about to intrude more without asking. You can say no.” Gabe flicks him on the forehead.

“Course you can stay. But, you’re not going to bed in those.” He gestures to Jack’s strike commander ensemble before he stands up and walks to his drawers, rummaging around for clothes. He settles on a white shirt and a pair of black shorts, tossing them to Jack. “Feel free to use the shower too.”

Suddenly Jack feels like they’re in basic, like they’re in the SEP again. He takes the clothing and goes into the shower and finishes cleaning himself up in 10 minutes. He folds his uniform and lays into a neat pile on the desk, when he comes back Gabe has already settled himself in one side of the bed, buried under the comforter with only the top half of his head peeking out. Jack thinks it’s kind of cute. Then he lies down in the unoccupied side of the bed.

“Gabe?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Good night, Jack,” he says.  _“I love you, Jack,”_ is what he means.

~

Gabriel falls asleep unexpectedly fast that night, Jack’s familiar warmth on his again lulling him to a deep, comfortable sleep like he hasn’t had in a while. Gabe thinks of his half-rotten luck and about how this is not the first, but the _second_ time Jack has walked in on one of his one-night stands. Half-rotten, he thinks, because on the other hand it appears the blonde hair and blue eyes escaped Jack’s notice again. Maybe it wasn’t an obvious trend. Maybe he was just being paranoid. _“I just ruined your hook-up night.”_ he turns over Jack’s words in his mind as he listens to Jack’s steady breathing on his side, thinking to himself _I’d much rather have this, even just this, with you._

In the morning, he tries not to think of how he wakes up to Jack’s arm draped over his torso and Jack’s head pillowed on his chest, and he tries not to think of how he pretends to be asleep a long time after he’s already woken up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were both outdoors buck-ass naked getting tans when God and all His angels decided to rain emotional impotence out onto the world.  
> As usual, here’s your reminder that I always love hearing all your thoughts and your reactions. Come yell at me on twitter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is a little slow on the uptake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyone who’s supported and encouraged me on my journey to writing this fic, the feedback and reception have all really been unexpected and pleasant! I think this one’s a lot slower and somewhat stilted than the last two chapters have been but I wanted to stay true to my intended narrative of Jack coming to terms with—shall we say certain things, almost comically slow and full of gaps. I also bumped up the expected chapters from 4 to 6, because, well. Stuff. It might be 5 or 6, who knows, but certainly not 4 anymore. Hope you enjoy!

Things were not the same for Gabriel since that night.

He pretends to sleep even as he feels Jack begin to stir and eventually wake up. He pretends to roll over to his side and continue slumbering, with one eye cracked slightly open, watching Jack rove across the room as he shucked off the clothes he borrowed from Gabe and wear his own again (and then change into a fresh set back in his own room, presumably). Jack throws the used articles into the laundry basket, laces up his boots and leaves without a word, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he could manage.

As soon as he knows Jack is gone for sure, he rolls onto his back, resting a forearm over his head, contemplating how Jack really just woke up, rolled out of his bed and went about his perfectly ordered world not knowing he’d just nearly demolished every single carefully laid brick in Gabe’s. He covers his face with both hands and rubs his eyes, the beginnings of a tightening, writhing feeling in his chest. He wonders how much more of this his heart can take.

~

Things were not the same for Jack since that night, either, but the realization comes to him slowly.

Jack goes about his day as usual, mechanically performing his strike commander duties, but in the few idle minutes he gets to himself his mind drifts off to thinking of the previous night—how just being around Gabriel brought things bubbling up onto the surface, feelings he didn't even know were there spilling out the moment Gabriel had his arms around him, Gabriel’s quiet “I got you, boyscout” that brought out the crying jag he didn't know he needed. Jack thinks about how he doesn’t remember the last time he slept like he did just last night—deep, heavy, completely undisturbed and waking up feeling actually well-rested—and then waking up to find that he'd unconsciously encroached into Gabriel's space, one arm over Gabe’s abdomen, his chest rhythmically moving up and down under Jack's cheek as he breathed, the few gentle rays of sunlight streaming in from the cracks in the curtains illuminating Gabriel’s face.

It had…felt right, somehow. Like a much-needed reprieve. And Jack thinks to himself if it would be weird to ask Gabriel if he could sleep in his bed again like that.

 _It would be plenty weird_ , his mind supplies helpfully. The rest of his internal dialogue is put on hold as more work arrives at his desk.

~

The third time it happens is when things start to fall into place for Jack.

It was nothing out of the ordinary for him to take some time off his schedule to visit Gabriel in the medbay just after missions as it was entirely Gabriel to be unable to resist getting himself beat the hell up after every deployment. Jack always took the time to visit first if he could, both as a prelude to a mission debrief and because it was always good to see for himself that his best friend and SIC was still intact.

Jack, being the Strike Commander, had free reign of every place in the Watchpoint—it was just another of those instances where he forgot that he still had to knock and again it came at the expense of Gabriel’s privacy.

This time, however, Jack unwittingly manages to do so a little more discreetly. Finding the satellite medbay strangely unattended to—he'd have to have a talk with someone later today about that—he decides to help himself in, striding to the first curtained bed and carefully partitioning the cloth to make a small opening so he can check if the occupant was Gabe and quietly move on if it wasn't him. As it happens, it was Gabriel, and someone else. There was a man on top of the hospital bed, straddling Gabe between his thighs, their faces pressed together and their hands—immediately Jack lets go off the curtain between his fingers and looks no further at the scene he'd just intruded on and takes a silent step back. Jack, in the back of his mind, realizes that the man on top of Gabe was the same man he'd caught Gabe messing around with the last time he'd dropped in on Gabe unannounced. Well, good for them I guess, he thinks. He takes the extra effort to further soften his footsteps and closes the door behind him as quietly as he could, hoping he'd made his exit unnoticed. At the very least he’d done what he initially set out to do which was check on Gabe. He was definitely going to be alright.

~

Jack goes on about his day just as he does usually.

He reviews and signs papers, takes phone calls here and there, attends meetings—everything appears to be in perfect order and functionality on the outside. On the inside, things are a little bit more different. He performs on autopilot and he knows he’ll have to bother his secretary later because he’s sure he’ll ask about everything on the agenda because he doesn’t remember a single thing that’s happened in any of the transactions he’s had that day.  He feels… distracted, to say the least. Jack’s mind is somewhere else, but where it was, he couldn’t say.

 Jack ends up losing hours in limbo, and it doesn’t occur to him until much later—in _his_ room, alone in _his_ own bed—that he doesn’t like reliving the memory of someone else’s hands and mouth on Gabriel.

~

He almost forgets about yesterday as his old habits kick in. Jack wakes up—not even remembering when or how he’d fallen asleep last night—and his mind warms up and then proceeds to a running start going over a mental list of things he had to do for that day, only to come up with a suspiciously short list with fragments in the details that he couldn’t quite fill. What was he doing y—

 _Ah._ It occurs to him then, head bent down onto the sink as he splashes cold water onto his face. He faintly recalls his own internal musings just before going to bed and he remembers coming to the conclusion that he couldn’t quite shake off the image of Gabriel’s little tryst in the medbay and the cold, heavy feeling that settled on the pit of his stomach with its recollection. He continues with his morning rituals—shaving, combing his hair, brushing his teeth and getting dressed—all the while picking it apart and putting it back together in the recesses of his mind but never quite arriving at an answer or moving past that loop.

He’s seen Gabriel’s hook-ups before and it never bothered him then, so there’s no reason why it should now. Jack realizes while he _does_ know that Gabriel at least partakes in _recreational activities,_ Gabriel has never openly discussed with or provided specifics to Jack. _Is_ that _it? Fuck._ It bothers him, now that the suggestion has found its way into the forefront of his brain. Gabe never tells him—what if it wasn’t a hook-up this time and it was actually serious? Gabe never tells him—but it occurs to him that _he_ never asks Gabe. All he ever did was talk about himself and Vincent and the break-up and— _fuck_ he’s been such a terrible, selfish, stupid best friend— _is that it? Is that why it’s gotten him so—_

Jack slams the brakes on his rapidly careening thoughts when he hears a knock on the door. He checks himself and sees that he’s miraculously managed to don the full strike commander regalia without realizing he did while he was stuck having a mental tennis match. He quickly strides towards the door, turns the knob and opens it—

“Good morning, sunshine.” Jack knows that voice and he knows that _very specific_ point accurate tone and lilt that came with a _very specific_ intent at being cheeky, that went with a _very specific_ nickname that he only ever gets called sarcastically. And Jack already knows that it already comes with a smile that shows teeth—not just any smile, he knows it’s going to be one of those smiles that pull up from just _one_ corner of his mouth, not like the tight-lipped smile he has when he’s trying to be pleasant and amicable and certainly not the full grin that stretches across his face and shows his laugh lines that he usually tries to hide behind his hand when he’s genuinely, _truly_ happy or amused because Jack and maybe three other people alive, other than his family, have seen him do that. Jack knows it’s Friday and he knows what he’s going to see is a freshly trimmed crew cut absent the beanie—because he knows he likes to do laundry on Fridays because technically they don’t have weekends anymore and he knows he insists on hand-washing the goddamn thing himself—and he also knows his beard and mustache are going to be just as freshly trimmed and meticulously shaped because he _also_ knows that he likes to do his grooming on Fridays because he likes to do everything in one go, knows he uses the same straight razor with the mother-of-pearl handle that he’s cared for for years because _“a safety razor just won’t do the job”_ and uses the same pine-scented aftershave he’s been using for years. He knows he’s going to be wearing the light olive hoodie _also_ because it’s Friday but he knows he owns fourteen others which you can tell are a slightly different color if you paid enough attention, and three plain black ones he wears on his day off. He knows he likes routine and order. He knows what his favorite food is, knows his mother and his grandmother’s and his sisters’ and his favorite cousins’ names, knows he hates raisin cookies, knows he loves the beach and knows he’s always wanted to visit Hawaii and—

“Jack.” A voice calls him firmly back down into the present, accompanied by a hard snap just a few inches away from his face. Not the first time he’d let his mind escape him in the last fifteen minutes. Curious. Then his focus comes back to him again, like waking up and having a dream that slowly erases itself from your memory the more your consciousness begins to settle. And he realizes he’s been staring at Gabe _without_ actually looking at Gabe and as the fog dissipates, he lets his eyes roam over the details of his face—the pristinely groomed, coarse and inky black strands of his facial hair, the rich brown skin with the slightly lighter, large scars—and small new ones he doesn’t remember being there but quietly files them into his memory—and vibrant brown eyes, expressive, so _expressive_ he knows the concern behind them because he knows he’s not saying anything, because he _can’t._

“Jack?” His name is spoken softer this time, the end of it punctuated with a questioning tone and a hand on his shoulder. Jack remembers it then, curiously one of the very few things he actually remembers, if he made an effort to recall it, the last time he talked to Vincent _—“Gabriel will take care of you. I know he cares about you. And I know you love him as much—maybe even more—than you loved me.”_.

Oh.

“Jackie, talk to me.” Both of Gabe’s hands are on his shoulders now, perched lightly and carefully on the muscles, and Gabe’s closed in on him now, his brows furrowed more than usual and his eyes searching Jack’s face until their eyes meet. Something clicks in Jack’s mind then.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be _a lot_ longer but I decided to chop it up into parts (hence the additional anticipated chapters) because I figured this was a good way to end a chapter and, well, I'm gay and I love drama and tension and cliffhangers. As always comments are much appreciated! Come yell at me on twitter.


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